


Blasphemy Dripped Its Heaven From His Mouth

by BeatlessMelody



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Am like this I guess, Blasphemy, Going to Hell, I am, I dont have a true reason to ship these two, I dont know why I did this and I hate it, M/M, This is, alcohol mention, i just, implied nsfw, jesus christ superstar 2018 (nbc vrs), light choking??, non explict nsfw, the apostles, this is very non accurate to canon time period, this is why we cant have nice things, very non canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 02:41:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14510751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatlessMelody/pseuds/BeatlessMelody
Summary: Bartholomew found God in the curves of Peter's lips.





	Blasphemy Dripped Its Heaven From His Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry i swear i am a god fearing Christian this is just me giving into my dumb gay wants and also there was a lot of casual affection in the nbc vrs and i couldn't help it

The night was quiet. Jesus and Judas had left their company hours ago, and now the disciples were sprawled across the room; bellies full of wine and a peaceful aura surrounding them.

 

Bartholomew was propped against the low couch where Adin and Bathsheba were sprawled together. Bruised fingers strummed the strings of a forgotten guitar, eyes heavy with wine and rich, donated food. The sound of James singing from another room near lulled him to sleep; before light fingers stroked his cheek, and his eyes opened. Warm smile crossing Bartholomew’s lips as his gaze rested up upon Peter. The other seemed less affected by the sweet wine and food, the tenseness of Peter’s shoulders offsetting the soft expression.    
  
It didn’t take even a moment for Bartholomew to climb to his feet, pushing their foreheads together affectionately before moving off somewhere more secluded. Peter would know to follow, and follow he did. The other had barely arrived before Bartholomew’s back was hitting the wall. Their lips pressing together in a gentle, but evidently desperate kiss. Bartholomew could only complain when Peter pulled away; the gentle hands running down his chest, before tugging upon the fabric around his neck soothed that away quickly.

 

“You aren’t usually this tense, Peter.” Bartholomew’s words soothed, even as the grip tightened and the constricting fabric forced a gasp.

 

“It’s nothing you should worry about, ‘Mew. Just restless.” The affectionate nickname was gentle compared to the frown upon Peter’s face.

 

Restless. Yes, they were all getting restless the more their travel to Jerusalem was postponed. It was obvious in the agitated gait of Simon and the way he hung off of Matthew in an effort to curb his agitation. Elizabeth grew restless as well; giving out tattoos like water for each day they stalled. Even Bartholomew found himself growing tired of this place when the Holy Land was so close at hand.

 

But none of that was important to him as the details of Peter’s face. The world could burn under God’s wrath; and Bartholomew would endure if he could make Peter happy. Which is why when the fabric pulled even tighter; he bore it without a word, gasping in each inhale and waiting for that oh so familiar expression to pull over Peter’s face.

 

Parted lips invited another kiss. Broken, this time. Between the restricted air flow and the way Peter’s agitation drew it into aggressive territory. Bartholomew’s hands reached up, cupping the older males face as Peter’s free hand tugged at Bartholomew’s messy bun. Pulling the strands loose so he could better pull at the curls. 

 

It wasn’t Peter that drew away first, this time. After all, it wasn’t  _ Peter _ having his breathing restricted.

 

“ Matok, ” The affectionate Hebrew  broke the silence surrounding their ragged breathing, and the softness in Peter’s expression when he opened his eyes nearly made Bartholomew melt. Running his thumb gently across the slight scratch of stubble upon his beloved’s cheek. “Not here, not now.”

The disappointment was evident, but the grip upon the fabric was slackened and once more Bartholomew could breathe freely. He saw Peter watch his lips as he gasped in the sweet, wine-scented air. But his situation was cemented when James walked awfully close to where they were hidden so close together. It wasn’t as if the other’s didn’t know, but a certain amount of discretion was advised upon. It was a mutually agreed upon rule.

 

It didn’t leave these walls, and that’s the way they survived.

 

Bartholomew wished it was different. But it was dangerous enough just living beside their Savior. Adultery could get them killed if it was found out.

 

“Yes,” Peter still hadn’t pulled away, the hand within Bartholomew’s hair loosening, then smoothing over the messy curls. “Yes, you’re right. We shouldn’t, not yet.” But still, the other’s eyes still stayed glued to his lips. Perhaps he had more wine than he had originally thought. He could smell the sweetness upon the other’ breathe, could taste it upon his tongue.

 

Leaning forwards; Bartholomew pressed their foreheads together. The silence was heavy, but comfortable as they did nothing but enjoy each other’s closeness - until Peter spoke. Yes, Bartholomew could hear it now. The thickness of the wine upon his tongue.

 

“You are the most beautiful of all our Lord’s creations. A misplaced angel. More beautiful than God Himself.”

  
  
“Don’t say such things.” Bartholomew’s voice was breathy, catching in his throat at the blasphemy that fell so easily. 

 

“I’ll say it to the Lord Himself, if given the opportunity.” Peter’s voice was resolute, and it was only his kiss that stopped the other from announcing it to the entire house.

 

It was this kiss that broke down Bartholomew’s defenses. He didn’t pull away when the hand shifted down to the tightness of his pants - no matter the gasp that escaped against the other’s lips - the opposite, in fact, he pushed up against the light friction. Doing his best to ignore his beloved’s smile. The hushed praise was lost in the blood rushing to his ears and.. Elsewhere. Shifting their position so that Bartholomew could push his head into the crook of Peter’s neck, muffling the slight moan that escaped.    
  
“Good boy.” Was all Bartholomew caught breathed so close to his ear, bucking his hips up briefly as Peter’s name repeated like gospel under his breath.

 

He swore he could find Church in this man. In the curve of his spine and the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled. He could find religion in secret touches and soft praise. He would go to hell for this man, Bartholomew knew that.

 

“Einayim Sheli ” The Hebrew drew Bartholomew into the present once more. The fabric ‘round his neck tightening once more, and forcing him to his senses. It didn’t take long for him to fall to his knees; to pray, or to get his mouth on him he wasn’t sure at this point. Peter still held the end of the fabric, pulling tight to force Bartholomew to look up at him.

 

Bartholomew could have sworn he saw God playing in the light of his love’s face in that moment.


End file.
